


The Eve of War

by oftypewritersandribbons



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Black Panther (2018), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-03 02:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftypewritersandribbons/pseuds/oftypewritersandribbons
Summary: As Bucky convalesces in Wakanda and with the help of Shuri, he begins to reclaim a past that was lost to him and discover the man he stands to be.A series of one shots focussing on Bucky's time in Wakanda.





	1. Salvage

 

 

_“Good Morning Sergeant Barnes.”_

_“Bucky.”_

_“How are you feeling?”_

_“Good, thank you.”_

_“Come on. There’s much more for you to learn.”_

 

 

* * *

 

The lab was slightly too cold and through his thin cotton trousers he could feel the cool metal of the gurney. The sensation was eerily familiar, the sterile conditions and bright overhead lights as they readied to wipe him clean, to throw him back into cryostasis until the next government needed toppling. After every mission followed a ritual cleansing of his memory, every faucet of a burgeoning personality removed. Their goal had been compliance – an unquestioningly loyal soldier to be directed at their enemies. And how he had felled them. Each assignment completed with unwavering skill before he disappeared – a veritable ghost.

 

Gripping the smooth surface under his legs Bucky grit his teeth, the bubbling anxiety in his chest urging him to tip over the edge and fall into the endless warren that was his memory. But he just had to remember that today was different, he was not being held against his will, he was here of his own volition. Wakanda afforded him choice. For the first time since he was drafted he was given the freedom to decide.

 

It was the little things he was beginning to rediscover and relearn, no longer did he wake to the sound of reveille or a new kill mission.  In Wakanda the laugher of children pulled him to consciousness. He was allowed to reacquaint himself what food he liked, more than anything he had a craving for sweet gherkins on a pastrami sandwich and the distant memory of preferring his coffee black in the mornings was beginning to resurface.

 

“Bucky?”

 Her voice punctured his thoughts, her eyes their usual curious brown but something weighed behind them, a heavy dose of concern that she couldn’t quite mask.

 “Sorry,” Bucky mumbled. “Got a little distracted there…”

 “Are you happy for me to continue?” Shuri asked, her eyebrow quirking in question, as her hand hovered over her tablet.

“Yes,” Bucky affirmed, licking his lips as he nodded his head.

“Very well then,” Shuri smiled. “I know you are not quite ready, but I have had some thoughts on designs for your arm.”

 Bucky nodded, thin lipped. “What kind of ideas?”

“Nothing too fancy, I assure you.” Shuri replied hastily.

Swiping forward with her hand, the princess threw several images of the prototype’s schematics into mid air. Or that’s what it looked like to Bucky. Rather a neat system of holographic projectors rendered the images life like in front of them.

 “The arm will be made of vibranium, so it will be much lighter than your previous one. And like T’Challa’s suit it will store kinetic energy, to be released when you need it. I have also looked to provide you with more range and flexibility.” Shuri paused, sucking in a breath, ”I know your old arm had some rudimentary pressure sensors but I’m looking into giving you something a bit more sophisticated.”

 “How do you mean?” Bucky questioned, his voice wavering slightly in trepidation.

 “Well, I thought perhaps I could try and return some sensation to your arm – for you to be able to feel again.”  Shuri winced, unsure of how he would take the suggestion.

 “Pain too?”

 “Well, we can always recalibrate and dial things back if it doesn’t suit you.” Shuri, bit her lip, suddenly unsure on how to proceed. For all her bravado and trust in her knowledge, intellect and skill, when faced with the potential to irreparably damage an already damaged man she was struggling to convince herself that all she had to do was trust in the science. “Perhaps we should leave that for a moment…” Shuri finally managed, before adding. “I toyed with the idea of retaining the silver for the colour.”

 “What did you end up deciding on?” Bucky asked, his lips quirking at the corner.

 “Well, I thought perhaps, that as the arm is of Wakanda and there is always a little bit of me in what I design, we could go with something a little bit more stealth.”  Shuri sent Bucky a sidelong glance before waving her hand at the projection, the colour shifting from silver to black. But with each joint and rivet there ran a streak of gold.

 Bucky whistled, “Not sure how stealth gold accents are Shuri.”

 “You don’t like it?” Shuri asked, hurriedly moving towards the projection, a distinct note of panic running through her voice. “I can remove the gold…. I just thought that as you were becoming more confortable here that maybe you would want something to remind of your new home.”

“Hey…. Hey…” Bucky was on his feet and suddenly right beside Shuri, his arm held up to her as he reached for her hand. “The colour is perfect, the gold is _perfect._ I was only teasing you.”

 “Oh,” Shuri whispered, her face suddenly going slack, the worry of offending her newly found friend dissipating. “Well, if you are happy I can begin preliminary mock ups.”

 “Sure,” Bucky nodded. “Just give me a little bit more time before you call in me in for fittings…”

 

“I am not making a weapon – something ugly and brutal,” Shuri abruptly added, her voice regaining its usual strength.

She was suddenly quite keen that Bucky understand, that he see what she was attempting to do. The arm would not define him, as it once had, burnished with his master’s brand.  She was attempting to provide him with the means of making his own decisions, unburdened by the past, free of old choices and debts.

“I am giving you an arm, and I hope this will feel like a part of you. A tool that can help you build something new….” The princess paused, her eyes heavy again, and the concern Bucky had noticed earlier fluttered to the fore. “I understand the world we live in and maybe you will fight, because Captain America or my brother asks for help. And if - _when_ \- that day comes this arm will not fail you, _I_ wont fail you.”

 “Shuri…” Bucky began. “It’s not a question of you failing me, and I know that you’re always going to put my best interests at heart.”

 

Bucky glanced down to his flesh and blood hand, admiring the lines and the tough callouses across the palm.

 “I just want to be able to salvage something of myself before I take on another arm. To try and figure out who I might be now before the next fight. Because there’s gonna be one… always is. But I have to be something apart from that. Whether that’s Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn or somebody else.”

 Bucky stopped, his eyes still hard with the intensity of his words.

 "Very well,” Shuri nodded, enveloping Bucky’s hand with hers. “Whatever you need, I will do my utmost to help you.”

 

 Bucky’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

 “Well, there was this one deli on the corner of Bleaker that did the best pastrami on rye….”

 A delicate frown appeared in the middle of Shuri’s forehead. “Are you telling me the beginning to rekindling your sensibilities is a sandwich?”

 “Well, you gotta start somewhere doll.” Bucky drawled, the Brooklyn in him suddenly flowing thick and fast. A hint of the easy charm he used to employ floating about his features.

 

 

 


	2. Natalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha reaches Wakanda and Bucky remembers.

The mission had gone badly, Natasha had barely made it out of Milan alive. With little options left open to them she was medevac’d to Wakanda. Steve had hated that Natasha had been hurt carrying out his orders, hated to ask T’Challa for yet another favour. But they had nowhere left to turn, the team was on every global watch list, Captain America’s rogue Avengers were personae non gratae in all the countries with a seat on the UN Security Council. Wakanda however, still afforded them sanctuary and provided the technology to heal the injured Black Widow.

 

Shuri had swiftly gone to work and a team of medics soon surrounded Natasha, each assessing her injuries and drawing up the best treatment plan.  Steve had been unable to stay, drawn back to the fight. Bucky had been glad, T’Challa having warned him of his friends imminent arrival with his injured teammate.  

 

Bucky wasn’t quite ready for the inevitable reintroduction. Steve would undoubtedly try to understand, but Bucky was convinced he was never going to be the man of their youth. And he wasn’t prepared to face the disappointment from Steve, who would certainly try to hide it, but it wouldn’t be enough.  Since the loss of Peggy, Steve’s last connection to a world he had lost was Bucky.  Bucky however, was doubtful he could ever regain enough of his memories or enough of himself to truly become the man Steve expected him to be. Or rather, wanted him to be.

 

The painful and inexorable meeting of two crushed halves had been postponed and Natasha had found her feet. Shuri however, had insisted that the red head remain to recuperate and build her strength for a few days. That was how Bucky found himself drifting down the corridors of the palace, his mind racing as he began to place her.  Thoughts, memories and feelings were slowly unveiling themselves to him, threatening to swap him entirely – his time in the Red Room and his Natalia.

 

Much of Bucky’s long life was a mystery but where there were endless, broken fragments of sentences, Natalia offered a punctuation point. For one glorious, fleeting second she had been the brightest thing in the universe. Like a strip of magnesium she had burned, white light so intense and unforgiving she had left an indelible mark in his brain. The scar now so thick and ugly, a testament to how she had wounded him and saved him.

 

Life had bled through her, coursed through her limbs as she dealt in death and ruin. But with the stay of her hand absolution followed.

 

Now she was gone, what remained of his Natalia was a pile of white ash, one breath and there would be no trace of her. The Red Room a past long consigned to a box so heavy with regret and guilt she could barely see past the first of many offences.  

 

She was Natasha now; just as strong and capable but there was something missing, an absence that he couldn’t quite define. Nothing as silly has how she wore her hair, or as basic as the way she moved.

 

It ran deeper than all of that; if he believed in souls then maybe he’d say hers was different, changed…. Broken.

 

Drifting slowly down the corridor he paused, the sound of music swelled through the hallway. Cocking his head to one side he moved in the direction of the noise until he found the source, a cacophony of strings and percussion held back by reinforced steel.  Reaching out with a tentative arm he pushed against the door to one of the many training rooms. Stopping when it was only slightly ajar his breath hitched in his throat.

 

Through the narrow opening a sight was suddenly unveiled to him, what he thought had been deprogrammed from her and something he would never see again.

 

Every muscle and sinew was strained, her skin slick with a sheen of sweat as she exploded off the floor. Legs scissoring in the air, back arched as she propelled herself forward, flying with the music. Landing on one foot she paused before rising to pointe, her right arm reaching down to brush the waxed floorboards, her other leg lifted above her body with her left arm running parallel to it.Holding the position for a moment longer, she then straightened up before throwing herself into a pirouette.  Her revolution coming to an end Natasha’s eyes opened.

 

“Hello.” Her voice was low, quiet. Gone was her Russian inflection, brutally drilled out of her when was a little girl.

“Hi,” Bucky muttered. Shuffling forward he slowly lifted his head to make eye contact.

“Steve mentioned you here,” Natasha offered, somewhat noncommittally as she reached for her water bottle. “They manage to fix you?”

Bucky flinched, taken aback by her blunt question. “Yeah, Shuri did something with her computer….” The soldier snorted, “I’m sure it was more complicated than that, but me being an centenarian and all, they leave out the details.” 

“Well, I’m sure she did a good job. Girl would give Tony a run for his money.”

“She’d love that.” Bucky smiled fondly at the thought of the young princess.

“And I’m sure Tony would hate it,” Natasha shook her head.

“You changed your hair,” Bucky suddenly commented.

Natasha frowned, a stray hand reaching up to touch her newly cropped blonde hair.

“Yeah it was red in Germany.” The Black Widow shrugged, “I thought maybe I’d try something different.”

“No…” Bucky shook his head. “Before then…”

“We fought in DC,” Natasha supplied slowly, her eyebrow quirking upwards. “And Odessa.”

Again Bucky shook his head, “Before then, in Russia.”

Natasha sucked in her breath, her hands balling into fists before she released them, some of the tension leaving her body. 

“You remember?” She whispered, stepping forward slowly, their feet now toe to toe.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for leaving it like that.... there talk will be explored further at a later date!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Just had a couple of ideas floating around and wanted to share. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, as your thoughts and comments are always appreciated.


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